Drawing a Blank
by BlackBlueEyes
Summary: Maggie has been living on the streets of Central City for all her life when she gets into a fight with a criminal that gets them both arrested. After being placed in protective custody, she is now being hunted. Staying at the West household, how long can Maggie last without revealing her special ability?


Large fists rain down on me. I struggle to get in a couple good hits in myself. Finally, I kicked the guy's kneecap and he cried out in pain as he fell to the ground. Before I could back up, he grabbed my ankle and pulled me to the ground next to him. Rolling over on top of me, he starts to punch me in the face.

I hear shouts and someone pulls the guy off of me and someone else pulls me off the ground. Looking up, I freeze when I see two officers holding us apart. Silently cursing, I try to struggle away from the officer but he just pulls my arms tighter behind my back. Nodding towards his partner, he pushes me into his cruiser.

* * *

"Name?"

"Maggie."

" _Full_ name." The officer looks up from his paperwork to glare at me.

"Margaret Jordan."

"Where do you live?"

Sighing, I focus my attention to the grain of the desk. He rephrases the question. "Where do you usually sleep?"

"I usually find an abandoned building or apartment to crash in."

Running a hand through his thinning hair, he tells me to stay there before walking away. Not that I was planning on going anywhere anyways. I slouch in my chair and think about how I got into this mess. Why did I have to fight that man about him being in my sleeping spot? I could've just found another space and avoided this.

When the officer comes back, he tells me that he's calling social services to pick me up. Before he can continue his speech, another officer runs up to him and starts to whisper to him. With every word, his frown gets deeper until it looked like it was etched into his face. He turns back to me when the other officer leaves.

"The man you were fighting earlier had a warrant out for his arrest. I was just informed that he escaped again. Because he might come after you, one of our detectives is going to take care of you until we are able to arrest him again," he informs me and the sinking feeling in my stomach increases.

My fingers twitch, aching for a pen or a pencil, as he leaves again. My drawing utensils were in my bag which they confiscated when they arrested me so I couldn't reach them. Not that I should be drawing with cops of all people around. To try to ease the urge, I start to tap my fingers on the desk and my foot under it.

Someone coughs loudly behind me and I instantly put my hands in my lap. After a few seconds, my foot starts tapping again. The cop finally returns with a man following him. He had dark skin and was starting too bald. "Margaret this is Detective West."

"I go by Maggie," I correct, giving him a good look.

Returning my look, he replies, "Nice to meet you Maggie. We'll just get your stuff and then we'll go."

Giving him a nod, I follow him as he goes gets my bag from yet another officer. When he hands it to me, I start to rummage through it, checking to make sure everything was there. The only thing that was missing was an old pocket knife but that was expected. I zip my bag shut and swing it onto my back, ignoring the scrutinizing look Detective West was giving me.

What can I say? I don't trust cops.

"Lead the way," I say, pushing a tangled lock of hair out of my face. As West leads me out of the police station, I couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

* * *

Detective West showed me to his daughter's old room and left after not so subtly telling me to take a shower. Even though I was irritated with the suggestion, I still made my way to the bathroom.

I stood in the shower until the water started to run cold before working to get rid of the grime that accumulated over the years. It was rare I that I could find an abandoned apartment that still had running water and it was hard to get clean in a gas station sink. When I was done, I put on a pair of torn jeans and a flannel shirt I found in my bag that were surprisingly clean before I went to the mirror and examined my face. My left eye was starting to swell and the right had a bruise forming under it. My lip was also busted and my nose was throbbing. Thankfully it stopped bleeding by the time I left the precinct.

After staring disdainfully at my reflection for a while, I go downstairs to the kitchen. I halt awkwardly at the door and take a few calming breathes before stepping inside. Every surface looked clean and, even though I just took a shower, I felt dirty compared to it. The place smelled faintly smelled like lemons and coffee. Ignoring the growling in my stomach, I start looking through the cupboards.

It takes a couple tries, but I finally find a cup and fill it up at the sink. I rest my cheek against the cool of the glass before taking a sip.

"He sure got you good." I glance at the doorway at West before looking back at my water.

He shakes his head and heads toward the refrigerator. After a bit of shuffling, he pulls something out and hands it to me. I raise an eyebrow at the bag of frozen peas but I accept them and put them against my eye.

I watch him shuffle around the kitchen feeling a little lost and confused. "Thanks," I mumble.

I still refused to meet his eyes when he looks at me again. Dragging myself to the table, I carefully take a seat. A few seconds later, West sits across from me.

"If you don't mind, I've got to ask," the detective starts and I glance up. "How did you end up fighting Max Bryant?"

I smirk a little and answer, "He was trying to claim my spot as his own."

"You weren't at all thrown off by the fact he was carrying a gun?" West asks, surprised.

"I actually didn't see it until after we started fighting," I state sheepishly. "I didn't give him much of a chance to wave it around before I punched him."

He gave a long whistle and I look down at the glass again. It was a stupid reason and now he might be coming after me and I was going into the system again.

"I can't tell if you're brave, stupid, or crazy," West states, taking a sip from his own glass.

Laughing, I lean back a little. "It's probably a mixture of a couple of those things."

He laughs with for a bit and we fall into a comfortable silence. West opens his mouth to say something when a loud crack echoes through the air, snapping our attention to the kitchen door. It's silent for a couple tense seconds before we hear another crack and a shout. My stomach twists and bile rises in my throat. He was here.


End file.
